The Cruel Sting of Fate
by Magic Crafter
Summary: Slightly AU... Following Badon Hill, Guinevere finds support in Arthur. However, a surprise comes as a mixed blessing for them all. She must make the choice that will change her life. ArthurxGuinevere, LancelotxGuinevere
1. Despair and Joy

_Alas, my love, you do me wrong,  
To cast me off discourteously.  
For I have loved you well and long,  
Delighting in your company._

Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves.

Your vows you've broken, like my heart,  
Oh, why did you so enrapture me?  
Now I remain in a world apart  
But my heart remains in captivity.

- Greensleeves, credited to King Henry VIII of England, circa 1500's

* * *

At some point in their life, everyone feels forbidden emotions. Abandonment. Betrayal. They ask questions whose answers are never clear. They want to release long-confined words. A well-disciplined mind can constrain these questions, emotions, and words.

When the smoke and fog had cleared on the blood-stained battlefield of Badon Hill, just north of the great Hadrian's Wall, many great Saxon and Woad warriors had sacrificed their lives.

But that had not been the only type of blood spilled.

Two Sarmatian knights, warrior-brothers, a result of fifteen years of fighting, had fallen. One had been hacked to death by Cedric, the Saxon leader. The other shot with a mighty crossbow, not having relinquished life before murdering his assassin.

Now they lay inside the fortress of the Wall, cleaned and readied for their impending burial. All efforts had been made to save them, seemingly in vain.

Soft footsteps pronounced the approach of a young woman. She pushed back the black curtain and entered the stone chamber. Her grey eyes sparkled with restrained tears. She had already seen a knight, one of their brothers, slain by the Saxons. Her heart mourned him, the mysterious, strong-willed Dagonet. He saved all their lives.

These two knights had died in a fight not their own. They had been slain because they shared a common love of one man – Artorius Castus. Only to him did they owe allegiance. Their fight had never been for Rome. Their commander, their brother, their friend and confidante…it had all been for them. The Christian, Rome-loving, soft-spoken, peaceful Arthur had convinced them without a word to fight, and because of that, they would never lay eyes on their home again. It was a heartbreaking tale that was all too true.

Both men's bodies had been cleaned, the wounds that led to their demise bloodless, skin scarred but gleaming. These were gods; they were not the men that had lived in service to Arthur. Would they know themselves? One was prepared for his burial, the other for his funeral pyre.

The first man's tangled mane of auburn hair had been carefully scoured, combed, and braided. It was far too neat for the living man, whose soul had been as wild as those brown locks. His features were unusually relaxed, but there was something sad about them. He was clad in polished black armor, the same suit he had worn into the fateful battle. His name was Tristan.

The second was also wearing armor. Two swords were laid on the floor beside him. His own hair of ebony curls had also been washed. The thing that struck her was the fact that his eyes were closed. That stormy gaze, gone! His chiseled features were diminished without the compliment of those eyes. This knight, Lancelot, had chosen his fate: he was to be burned.

"Oh, my friends, how dearly we shall miss you! You would not wish us to grieve to long or too hard for your sakes, but the gods know we will despite that," The woman's voice was soft and choked. Her name was Guinevere, and she was scarcely recognizable as the woman who had fought on Badon Hill but yesterday.

More footsteps made her look up from the faces of her fallen companions. Another man, clad in a similar fashion to the knights, entered. It was Arthur himself. His unshaven face was somber and one hand was clutching the sword that only yesterday was soiled with the blood of Saxons

When he spoke, she was almost moved to tears. "Guinevere, we cannot mourn all day for our friends," He murmured.

"This I know already, Arthur," She replied.

"They would tell us –"

Guinevere held up her hand. She was stout of heart and rather stubborn. While Arthur had a gentle, understanding temperament, hers was as uncertain as the weather outside.

"Do not tell me what they would tell us!"

He fell silent, his azure gaze wandering over the familiar faces of Lancelot and Tristan. He had known them for upwards of fifteen years. It was hard to believe that he was forced to tell them farewell now. They were both hushed for a moment. Finally, Arthur dared to approach Guinevere again. She was leaning against the table upon which they had placed Lancelot.

She stared up at Arthur as if she'd never seen him before in her life. He was a powerful man in stature and in mind. When he held out his free hand to assist her in standing, she took it.

"I apologize, my lady," He informed her, his tone painfully formal. She'd offended him, and it hurt her to know that she was the cause of his frown…at least part of it.

"Arthur, you should not be the one apologizing. This day…" She began.

Arthur was the interrupter this time. He gathered Guinevere into his embrace and she buried her head in his shoulder, trying desperately to forget that two dear friends lay slain beside them. For a few minutes they stood uninterrupted, being a comfort in one another's arms. She inhaled Arthur's sweet scent, like the salty breeze off the ocean or the fresh rain that fell so often in Britannia. Her soul was free of worries in his grasp, free of pain, free of the knowledge that she had been loving two men and could choose only one.

Those moments were too short, too swiftly gone. When she saw Lancelot's lifeless body, she cried out, saved falling by Arthur's hands.

"Because of me!" She whimpered, tears falling down her cheeks anew. "He wanted to protect me! Arthur, I should have died in his place. He was about to gain his freedom. He should have lived!"

He put a protective arm around her shoulder. "Shh," He crooned. "It wasn't because of you. Lancelot told me he would die in battle…he was right. Do not grieve for his death. Not anymore."

Guinevere allowed Arthur to lead her from the room, allowing the knights to rest in peace as they were intended to. When they reached Arthur's private chambers, he sat her upon the bed, not removing his arm from her thin but muscled shoulders. He let his hand absently stroked through her dark curls, his eyes moving over her as they had two nights before.

Obviously, the man was in love with her. She was not the alluring, dark-haired warrior princess of their night together, however. Instead, she was a frightened young woman with nothing but Arthur to hold onto.

"Guinevere, my love," Arthur spoke after what seemed like hours in the silent reverie of his chambers, tentatively using the new title, "we must go to dinner. The knights shall be concerned if we do not."

_Dinner? _It seemed impossible to eat, to think of eating! Dagonet, Lancelot and Tristan would never dine with them again. Their dinners were with the gods now, with all the laughter and company and wine they desired. She couldn't nod, couldn't speak…she didn't want to leave this room, darkened and cool, until she absolutely had to, but Guinevere had a feeling that Arthur would carry her if need be…he wasn't a man used to having his orders be denied, especially by a woman, however strong and brave she usually was.

"Come," This time, though his words were soft and sympathetic, they were obviously a command.

She rose on unsteady legs and trailed behind Arthur until they reached the Round Table, so stunning to the Bishop, and he seated her gently on the right side of his own chair.

After a while, the conversation died down Galahad, Gawain, and Bors turned their gazes towards Arthur. Guinevere realized with a sick feeling that these were the only survivors of a fifteen year contract with Rome. She closed her dark eyes, trying to force the images of Tristan, Lancelot, and Dagonet sitting at the table with their companions out of her mind.

"Friends," Arthur was saying, "it has been a long and difficult road to this day – the day you are truly granted your freedom! Lancelot…"

Guinevere did not want to hear him. She thought of something different, but nothing stopped the fact that the dear knights were dead. She reached up, searching blindly for Arthur's hand.

When she found it, she felt Arthur close his fingers tightly around her own. A sense of relief flooded through her body. This was safety, security, love. Arthur had always been her savior since the first day she'd met him. It had not been Lancelot who had broken the chains binding her to that dungeon.

He was finished speaking. The voices of the three knights dining with them echoed in her ears. She dared to open her eyes. No one was watching her, save Arthur. She slipped her hand cautiously from his. For a while, speaking reverently on some subjects, listening to their crude jokes and laughing along side them, Guinevere evaded reality. However, dinner was over quickly. No one had wanted much to eat, lest they think about the missing company.

As she rose from her place at the table, she heard a woman shriek from a far room in the keep. The pounding of feet came down the corridors as she waited beside Arthur, stiff as a statue.

"My lord," One woman gasped, her face very pale, "My lord, you must come see! It is a miracle, a miracle! We are blessed!"

Exchanging glances, Arthur and Guinevere followed her slowly. He looked puzzled, an odd expression on his face, she thought. Perhaps he was exchanging words with his God, the Roman God…but whatever miracle this was, she doubted it had anything to do with Rome.

The young woman led them to the chambers in which the bodies of Tristan and Lancelot had been laid to rest, an all-to-familiar place for Guinevere. She allowed Arthur to take her hand and guide her through the curtain.

It was all she could do not to faint. Though Tristan was just as they had left him, looking forlorn in death, more docile than he could ever have been in life, Lancelot's body was not there. Instead, a tall, pale man stood unsteadily, one hand keeping a hold on the stone wall to assure he kept his balance. This…this was Lancelot. She knew this man. He had not been breathing; he had been dead…had he not?

When that storm-crossed gaze fell upon the fair face of Guinevere, Lancelot looked stunned. His hand dropped from the stones. She feared he could fall, die there, when they had just reclaimed him from the land of death. The woman ran towards him, clinging to him suddenly as if she were caught in a tempest.

"Lancelot!" She breathed. "Oh, Lancelot! We feared you dead!"

Arthur watched, the ghost of a smile playing on his tired face. This woman, the woman he adored, had run out of his comforting grasp to gush over Lancelot. He tried not to be bitter; this was his best friend. He couldn't believe it.

When he had been freed of Guinevere's arms and tears, Lancelot turned towards Arthur, the man for which he had almost sacrificed his life. He walked towards him, clasped his hand, and embraced him like a brother.

"Arthur, old friend," He said almost reverently. "Two more welcome faces I could not hope to see."

Tears streamed down Guinevere's face. This was all…unreal, too good to be true. She hovered around both men, gentle, caring Arthur and imposing, temperamental Lancelot. Something came back to her, as if mocking her joy.

_Remember, dear lady, that you love two men, yet you must break one's heart, for both also love you. Oh yes, Lancelot has loved you since the moment he saw you. Simply remember…you must choose._

Her grey eyes went wide. Gods, no! How could they be so cruel now? She found Arthur's arm, since he had been her comfort. Instinct, subconscious…she had taken Arthur's arm, not Lancelot's.

_Oh, as cruel as you may be, gods, help me now!_

"Guinevere!" The last thing she heard was the chorus of both of their voices before the room around her went black.


	2. A Confession

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

_I have been ready at your hand,  
To grant whatever you would crave,  
I have both wagered life and land,  
Your love and good-will for to have._

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

_If you intend thus to disdain,  
It does the more enrapture me,  
And even so, I still remain  
A lover in captivity._

- Greensleeves, credited to King Henry VIII, circa 1500's

* * *

For the next week, Guinevere was trapped between joy and uncertainty. Arthur desired to ask for her hand in marriage. She would be trapped then, forever bound to him. Arthur was different in every way from Lancelot. Thus, the way she loved him was different, too.

Despite their hours together, the young woman regarded Arthur with a tender eye. She saw his compassion in everything he did, his desire to help his people. She read his despair when he discovered Rome was not the place of his daydreams, his joy when Lancelot had seemingly risen from the grave. With every movement, turn of head, smile, and every gleam in his blue eyes, she saw the man who fantasized of an idyllic world. She adored him from a distance with a quiet, sympathetic love.

With his best friend, it was different. During the night, her dreams were plagued with Lancelot's face, his scarred body, lean form, strong muscles. He was the man who made her wake in a cold sweat. Her heart leapt with delight when she saw him and ached when he was gone. She would have laid down for him anywhere, died for him.

He was a storm waiting to happen, a blaze of dark curls, two swords, a dangerous black gaze, and a whirlwind temper. Where Arthur was her sunshine, Lancelot was her midnight. She needed them both like air and water.

"Guinevere."

In the fading sunlight, staring at the forest, Guinevere turned. He didn't bother addressing her as "my lady". Instead, Lancelot simply leapt into conversation, his eyes glowing like coals. He was alluring and powerful. She was attracted to him and yet repelled by him, fearing always that she would loose the arguments they entered into almost daily.

"Lancelot."

"'tis late, lady…should you not be returning to the keep? Arthur is doubtless worried for you."

"He needn't be."

Arthur it seemed was always the beginning of their conversations. They shared a mutual love of him, and thus, he was an easy topic. She nodded shortly. He was too good-hearted, Arthur. She feared for him, should she choose Lancelot when the day came that she indeed had to choose.

"He loves you, Guinevere."

"Yes, Lancelot, I know he loves me."

"Do you not love him?"

"I do. Why must you pry? Is it such concern to you, my feelings for him?"

Frowning, Lancelot came around to look at her. She was wearing a gown of pale yellow, contrasting her own mass of shadowy hair that so contrasted the pale skin of her face. Her feet were bare but soiled. Until a few minutes ago, she had been practicing archery. A discarded cloak, quiver of arrows and a bow lay on the ground at her feet. He knelt to pick the cloak up. It was deep red.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Their eyes locked. She remembered the day when he had risen, groggy, confused. That day, oh, blessed it was! That day they had not argued. She hadn't been forced to bite back her feelings, her passion for him. She had run to him, thrown her arms about him! What she would not give to do it again.

"I know that he is not your only love. He cannot be. Your eyes stray at dinner, when he speaks to you, when he tries to hold you in his arms. I see him hurt more each day as your attentions wander so easily from him."

Her heart was frozen. Lancelot knew. He must, if he was saying such things. She wanted him to know, of course, with an unmatched desperation. At the same time, however, she was frightened. He had loved many women in his lifetime. Would he love her if she proclaimed her ardor of him? Their gaze was broken when she allowed her lids to fall over her eyes.

"Whom, dear knight, do my eyes stray to? Whom do you believe I love, besides our gallant Artorius? Who could it be that captured my heart?"

Lancelot looked hesitant, as if revealing this could lower him in her eyes. He feared he was wrong, she realized, when her grey glance steadied and locked on the handsome knight once more. She smoothed a wrinkle in her gown, awaiting his answer, apprehensive. What if he was right?

"Lady, you should not suspect me of being pretentious…I believe, however, that your heart may look to me as your second love."

_No. He cannot have. He must not know! How can you admit to him that he is your second love? How can you reveal that, even within Arthur's arms, laying a room away at night, you see him? How can you tell him what you dream of? How can you voice the feverous desire to have him in your arms?_

She gasped instead of saying anything, feeling as faint as she had the day they'd discovered that he still lived. She heard him rush to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"You have guessed the truth, Lancelot. It is you undeniably that my heart has reached out to."

He stared at her, keeping his hold on her shoulders so she did not fall. Whether or not he would admit it, he was amazed that he was correct in his assumptions. Flattered, really, to have her emotions shared with the likes of Arthur Castus! He deserved them more than the knight ever would, or so he believed. His ego did not intrude on the subject of his commander.

"My lady," He began, but found that she stood and turned. He was caught silent by her beauty in the sunset, the golden dying rays catching every aspect of her exquisite form.

They were caught there, staring at each other, on the brink of something else; something that would be laughter, romance, quiet dismissal…they couldn't be sure, the pair of secret lovers that were so similar and yet so distant and different at the same time.

However, the shout of a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Lancelot? Guinevere? Arthur wants us all for dinner! Bors is getting married!" Gawain's laughing voice echoed in the night. Shaken out of their reverie, Lancelot and Guinevere turned away from one another and raced down the stairs, trying to suppress their surprise and amusement that Bors, the one knight arguably least likely to settle down and wed.

They followed Gawain in silence, avoiding each other's gaze. There was a rift of sorts between the two of them now. Their conversations, the way they acted around one another, seemed irreversibly changed. Lancelot gallantly offered her his arm. "My lady," He murmured, reverently. She was flattered and gratefully took it.

As they entered the keep, they walked differently. Indeed, they walked like a couple, like lovers might. They were already linked in mind. It was only a matter of time before this would all change; soon they would be forced to hide their love of one another or wed and make it well known among their friends.

Entering the dining chamber, instead of taking their customary places on either side of Arthur, they sat farther apart beside each other.

Even to someone as in love with Guinevere as Arthur was, thus blind to most things about her, it was obvious she was with the man her heart had been given to. As dinner was served and words were exchanged easily between Bors and the rest of the knights, Guinevere could feel Arthur's eyes on her. She knew he was questioning her with his blue gaze, wondering if she indeed loved Lancelot or if she was still intending to give her heart to him. All through the meal, she felt uncomfortable.

When Lancelot rose at the end of dinner, he looked at her expectantly. She wanted to follow behind him, but the look on Arthur's face made her pause and rethink that choice. She heard him exit the room.

Arthur finally turned to her. He was somber indeed.

"To whom do you give your heart, lady," He half-whispered, "is none of my concern…at least, it should seem that way. Conversely, I had thought, perhaps, that the object of your affections had come to be myself. In the past days, my love, I have seen the looks which you and Lancelot have shared. Fears were all but confirmed when you didn't so much as glance in my direction tonight, darling."

_Arthur is asking me to make my decision now…I cannot! Not here. Not like this._

A tear leaked out of Guinevere's eye. Arthur's heart broke. He hadn't meant to cause her any more grief.

Carefully, a mournful expression etched into his features, the Roman commander gathered Guinevere into his arms. She hid her face in his shoulder, completely lost, her hope of a resolution for the situation gone. What would happen if he asked for her hand? Could she deny him? Arthur was her harbor in the storm that was Lancelot, her light in his dark abyss. Indeed, she knew yet again that she could not have one without the other. What good was a harbor if you had not rocking waves to be guarded against, a light with no darkness? They were a pair, Arthur and Lancelot, and how dearly she loved the both of them!

She didn't know if she had even strength enough to drag herself from his arms into her makeshift bedchamber. Looking up at Arthur's concerned sapphire gaze, she knew she did not. He was her final undoing for the night. While still as physically robust as she'd ever been, the female warrior's emotional state was that of eggshells being tread upon; precarious at best.

Arthur tilted her chin gently up and she hadn't time ever to think before he kissed her. The young woman's entire body was electrified. It was a tender thing, their shared affection at the moment, gentle and coaxing, sleepy, weak.

By the time Arthur's lips left her own, Guinevere's eyes were closed. She was humming an old tune from childhood, leaning against him, her arms entwined around his neck. This had been his goal, truly, to make her relax enough so that she was not weeping or worrying any longer.

The next thing Guinevere knew was the strength of Arthur's arms, the length of his stride, the soft surface of his mattress. Why had he passed through her chambers? Why had he brought her to his own? She was too groggy to protest, looking up at him through thick dark lashes. Her gown was even heavy, or so it felt. She released her grasp around his neck slowly, stubbornly. All thoughts of Lancelot had been successfully dashed from her mind.

"Arthur?" She murmured.

"Shhh," He cooed, kissing her forehead.

Guinevere laughed, turning away from his lips obstinately. A smile graced her weary features. Arthur laughed and tried again, but she repeated this.

"I believe I've had entirely too much wine for my own good, my lord," She laughed, reaching up to run a hand through his thick dark locks. He was so handsome in the dim candle light, all the weary lines of his face covered by shadow.

Battling ensuing sleep, Guinevere unhooked his cloak, dropping it casually to the floor. Next, she tried to unhook his belt, failing with her unfocused fingers. She yawned, trying to regain her composure and failing as Arthur kissed her again. She let herself be conquered.

"Yes, I believe you have, my dear Guinevere," He replied softly. "But you must tell me now, before anything can begin this night; will you give me your heart, completely?"

Her eyes fluttered closed. She was impatient with Arthur.

"Of course."

_You've sealed your fate, foolish woman. Think twice before trapping yourself in a game of sleep and wine and sentiments for a man hoping that his God shall send your love to him!_

She fell asleep soon afterwards to feverish dreams of Lancelot and the battle at Badon Hill.


	3. Trusted Advice

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

_My men were clothed all in green,  
And they did ever wait on thee;  
All this was gallant to be seen,  
And yet thou wouldst not love me._

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

_Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,  
but still thou hadst it readily.  
Thy music still to play and sing;  
And yet thou wouldst not love me._

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

- Greensleeves, credited to King Henry VIII of England, circa 1500's

* * *

When sunlight finally streamed through the window, Guinevere was relieved. The fitful nights of late had worried her. She wasn't entirely sure if Arthur had taken her words seriously – she hadn't meant them, not completely, not to a point where she could swear by them. She loved both of them! Oh, how many times would her mind go over that? It was almost a month after the battle on Badon Hill, yet still she was haunted by the screams of her people, dying, and the war cries of Saxons. The image of Lancelot rushing to her rescue was something that troubled her the most. How could she repay him?

Her mind was divided in this matter. One side said, _Give Lancelot your love. He deserves it! He could have died, would have, for you that day! What better gift can you present? He loves you with all his soul!_

Another part of her mind defended Arthur and the feelings she possessed for him. _You promised him your heart already. Wed Arthur. He is best for your people and for you. Can you not see that in the way you gaze at him when he and his knights are practicing? Can you not see the way he fights for you alone?_

Only two days ago, she had informed Arthur that she was going to visit her people, the Woads, in the forests beyond Hadrian's Wall. She longed for the advice of one man in particular; Merlin.

Some suspected that Guinevere was the daughter of Merlin, a mysterious man who advised only those who be of benefit to him. However, she knew that much to be untrue. Her father and mother had died many years earlier, and the leader had become her comfort and her guidance. He had been a good friend to her parents and felt himself indebted to them.

This morning was a bright but cold one. She drew her cloak around her shoulders. It was the same blood-colored garment that she had discarded after her night of archery. Indeed, it had been Arthur's. The young woman found comfort in it, for some of the sea-like smell of him lingered in its fibers.

"Ah, the princess awakens."

Guinevere looked up. Merlin stood, clutching his staff, smiling down on the dark-haired girl. She knew, somewhere, he loved her.

"You know as well as I do that I am no princess, Merlin," She said lightly.

"Oh, but surely you have heard the rumors."

She raised a brow, standing to get a better look at him. He was rough and dirty, as always, but she knew the man well enough to see the wise gleam in his eye. Rumors? Certainly there was always one or two floating about the keep, mostly having to do with Bors or Lancelot, but none that she had paid any mind to. After all, she'd had other things occupying her mind for the past few weeks. She couldn't be bothered with other ladies' gossiping.

"Do elaborate," Guinevere said finally.

Merlin chuckled and began to walk. She gathered the cloak closer to her and followed him out of the small little hut. The sunlight was blinding. She shielded her grey eyes with one pale hand.

"Some of the people believe that Arthur would make a fine king…and you, they suspect, are the woman he shall choose as his wife. You could find yourself royalty sooner than you think, dear Guinevere."

_King? Arthur? He would never want to be a king! Arthur is the advocate of equality…he says that's the only thing that can keep peace! How would he ever deal with being supreme ruler of a people? The knights would not like it any more than he would, doubtlessly… Oh, Merlin, such strange tidings you bring!_

She shook her head. "I don't have any wish to be royalty, Merlin, and neither does Arthur."

She didn't ask him what his opinion was about the relationship between her and Arthur. After all, hadn't she come to stay with her people to forget about her troubles?

"Who can tell where fate is going lead us, Guinevere? Does it matter what we want or what has been set down for us?" He paused, turning to look her over. "You, my dear, have been assigned a path. It is unavoidable…I can see it in your eyes, the dilemma that faces you now. Do not fight it. Follow your heart."

Guinevere didn't want him to say "follow your heart". If there was a fate, she wanted to know what it had in store for her. She wanted to know what love she was supposed to accept, which heart she was going to have to break. Her heart was a whirl of confusion. How could she follow something that led two different places? At the end of one road was a meadow of flowers and beauty and golden sunlight. At the other was a dangerous storm at sea all furious winds, blinding rain and severe ebony clouds. Both were tempting. Both called to her. She could not be a part of both.

"Merlin," When she spoke, her voice surprised her. It was weak and frightened…it was not the Guinevere she knew. It was surrendering, admitting defeat, seeking love and support and help. "Merlin, I love them both! I cannot follow two paths."

Merlin stared distantly at the stout-hearted young woman and remembered her as a child; a stubborn, demanding creature yet beautiful and worthy of admiration all the same. Nothing had changed…she was only a matured version of the little girl with the swirling dark curls.

"The gods show me many things...if you do choose Arthur, you must betray him. If you do not, if you choose your knight, Arthur will find himself trapped in a loveless marriage. His kingdom, his peace, will be easily shattered. I cannot tell you more than that, Guinevere, for it is all I know."

* * *

That night, Guinevere's dream was again troubled. She was practicing her archery. The day was bright and beautiful. She hadn't any worries. Her arrows all hit their targets. It was perfection.

Suddenly, a gale of wind swept in sinister clouds. It began raining, flooding the training area and the keep itself. She ran inside to find Lucan, but lost her way. Water began to rise. She feared that she would drown, but the strong arms of a man pulled her from the water. As Guinevere looked up to thank him, she caught only a glimpse of black curls and a sword before she was startled awake.

Breathing hard, Guinevere made up her mind in the darkness: she needed to return to Hadrian's Wall. Something, she feared, may be wrong.

* * *

"Guinevere!"

The welcome voice of Lancelot greeted her as she rode to the mighty gate of the keep inside the Wall. They were immediately opened for her. As she released her mount into the care of the stable hand, she saw the knight running towards her, smiling.

"I presume you've been waiting there for several days?" She asked lightly, raising a brow.

"As long as it took you to return," He replied.

Her control broke. She was glad to see him, desperately glad. Without meaning to in front of this crowd, she threw her arms around him as she had a month before, abandoning worries and cares, Merlin's words echoing in her ears. _Follow your heart._ Whatever she would think afterwards, this was what her heart was saying now.

She kissed him, putting all her grief and fear and passion and love into that kiss, clinging to him like the world would end if she let go. The forbidden kiss…it was finally shared. Lancelot's strong arms went around her. He lifted her off her feet as he had in her dream. She tangled her hands in his curls.

Breaking apart so they could both breathe, he laughed, abandoning his own duty to Arthur, forgetting that his commander was in love with this woman too. As he ducked under a doorway, he set her on her feet. This was the room she dreamed of; his bedchamber. It was sparsely decorated, but knowing that he slept in this bed every night, knowing that he took some of his meals here…it made her heart pound faster. She realized that this was the final step. Would he love her now? She did not know how different it would be from Arthur.

_Arthur._

She had not seen him. She should let him know that she was safe. Right now, however, she felt little loyalty to Arthur. "Oh, Lancelot, I love you!" She breathed, staring up at him. The words were barely audible, but he smiled again.

"Guinevere?"

She looked rigidly over Lancelot's shoulder. He dropped his arms to his sides, they having been around her waist.

_Arthur._

"You have returned."

_Does he know?_

"Arthur." Guinevere moved blindly towards him, and she saw that he did not. She knew he suspected something, but knew nothing; he hadn't seen. Thank the gods!

They, too, shared a kiss. She could not look at Lancelot again


	4. Follow Your Heart

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

_Well, I will pray to God on high,  
that thou my constancy mayst see,  
And that yet once before I die,  
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me._

_Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves._

_Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,  
To God I pray to prosper thee,  
For I am still thy lover true,  
Come once again and love me._

- Greensleeves, credited to King Henry VIII of England, circa 1500's

* * *

It was torture for Guinevere. Merlin's prophecy loomed around her head like a gloomy cloud. She knew not whom to sit with at meals, who to engage in conversation with. The anguish of this situation was sure, she thought, to drive her mad soon! She was thankful, however, that Arthur did not confront her when she was half-drunk on wine and half-asleep as well. Her dreams remained restless. Oftentimes Arthur would be standing over her when she awoke from one of them, asking her if she was alright.

"…_if you do choose Arthur, you must betray him. If you do not, if you choose your knight, Arthur will find himself trapped in a loveless marriage. His kingdom, his peace, will be easily shattered."_

"Merlin, stop torturing me!" She moaned. It was a cool afternoon, the kind that always came in the early springtime. Yesterday it had rained, but an unexpected change of the weather had resulted in a beautiful day. The young woman had strayed outside alone, meaning to practice her archery. She had no bow in hand, nor a quiver slung across her back. She'd forgotten.

"My lady?" Guinevere turned.

Dark curls, an unshaven face, sharp eyes and broad shoulders greeted her gaze. He was dressed as he always was, with his black armor and grey cloak. Why could Gawain or Galahad not discover her whereabouts for once, stumble upon her? She had no trouble speaking to them. They were friends without the dilemma of becoming a lover.

"Lancelot, how do you always find me when I am hardly dressed for dinner?" Whether she'd intended to make a joke of the situation, but her voice was filled with laughter.

Indeed, you could hardly call her attire fancy. A simple blue gown, too short for her, with no décor except old lace trimmings around the high neckline and sleeves, also too short, was all she wore. Her calloused feet, bare once again, were in plain sight. She hadn't allowed a maid to fix her hair, so it hung in brunette curls around her face.

"You sounded distressed, lady," He replied simply, approaching her. She didn't back away from him.

"Did I?"

"How, pray, is the Dark Magician plaguing you?" Lancelot asked gently. She could not bear his intense gaze, full of concern for her. "Arthur…he has said your dreams have been turbulent recently, and now you say this. I fear for you. You become more hushed with each passing day. It seems that…since you have returned…forgive me for being bold, but I must ask you…have you avoided me purposely, Guinevere?"

No. Lancelot was not supposed to be so perceptive! He could not know, could not have learned from Arthur all of this. She was trying to hide her frenzy of emotions from both men. All she wanted to do was be strong for all their sakes. Of course, she knew she was running out of time. Sooner or later, if she did not clearly choose one of them, Arthur was going to ask for her hand. Meanwhile, while she _was_ coming to a conclusion, she must conceal all of it! Even so, strong as Guinevere was, she could not deal with withholding it from Lancelot when he'd asked her so bluntly. Tears, though she despised them, appeared. The salty moisture stung her grey eyes. When the knight saw those tears, witnessed her silence, he rushed to her and took her in his arms.

"Guinevere, please! Do not weep. You must tell me. What is distressing you so? Can you not see that your secretive mannerisms of late have wounded us?" His words certainly sounded wounded. He was reduced to begging. Their arguments had always had a different tone than this. She was relieved that this was not going to become one.

Gazing up at his handsome face, her stomach turned itself in a knot. "Oh, Lancelot," She whispered, "I cannot begin to explain it all. Arthur should have left me in that dungeon. We would all have benefited."

"No!" The intensity, the conviction, the passion with which he said that one word broke her. She hid her face in his shoulder, her thin body consumed with sobs. The only comfort was the strength of Lancelot's arms, the way he held her tightly. How long they stood there together she didn't know. One of his hands was running through the shadows of her hair. "Shhh. Don't cry, my love. We shall get through this."

_My love. Did he say that? Am I imaging things again...is this another dream? What if Arthur sees us? What if I care nothing about Arthur? Would that make me a horrible person? Everyone speaks his name with reverence. Should not I? Is he not the reason I am alive? Why, then, do I share my love with another?_

"I don't know what to do, Lancelot," She breathed. "I'm in love with two men. Which shall I choose? I cannot have you both."

"Hush." Lancelot mumbled, lifting her chin so he could stare into her eyes. "Hush."

Guinevere knew. His voice, the dream, Merlin's prophecy, his touch, the way he held her…her eyes fluttered closed. She stood a little taller and brushed her lips over his. As she expected, Lancelot kissed her. It was not the kiss they'd shared before, the burning one, the desperate kind of kiss. This was a tender kiss. It was so sweet she wanted to shed more tears.

"Lancelot," She began, pushing her fingers lightly against his insistent lips, "I choose _you._"

* * *

How would she tell Arthur? The man adored her. Everyone knew it. Lancelot himself knew it.

_Lancelot._

Guinevere's lithe fingers circled one of his great, black war rings hanging around her neck. It was official; they were to be man and wife as soon as everything was in order. Her ladies were already making plans for a gown. It seemed that the only person in the keep that hadn't been informed of their intentions was Arthur. Her heart skipped several beats when his door opened. She looked at the floor to avoid seeing the way his blue eyes lit up when she was near him. "May I have a word with you, my lord?"

When she did glance up, she could see the frown that had appeared on Arthur's young but tired face. "Of course."

She slid past him into the chambers. Her gaze flickered over the room. The bed was neatly made, a bed she knew so well. Candles burned with frenzy in the moist atmosphere. It was raining yet again. _Think of what you came here to tell him, Guinevere. Do not be distracted!_

"I…must tell you something, Arthur. You were my savior. I can never forget that. You have been my sanctuary. I love you for it. However, there have been things of late that have unnerved me that you must know. Merlin – whatever sorcery you believe him of – is the only father figure I have ever known. He helped advise me when I went to stay with my people…Arthur; my heart has been torn between two men. You were not wrong when you saw that. He told me that, should I choose you to be my husband and my lover, I would betray you. I could not do that. You are too good a man, too kind and true." She tried to prevent her voice from catching. "He also told me that, should I…not choose you, you would wed another. Arthur, whoever she is, I know that she would not betray you."

His face was pale. "Guinevere," He said roughly, "what are you telling me?"

"Arthur, I love you, but I cannot wed you."

"Then whom do you intend to wed, lady?" Arthur said, anger behind his sapphire gaze. "If I cannot have you, who can?" He was livid. However, the way he said such things…was he angry with her?

"Please, Arthur, I beg you to forgive me."

He stared at her for a moment or two. "It is not you who needs to be forgiven, Guinevere. Who do you intend to wed?" He repeated. "It _must_ be Merlin's doing."

_No! Does he not hear what I say? This is not the sensible Arthur I know! Oh, gods, show him sense and calm! Please! He shall take his anger out on Merlin or Lancelot. How can I let that happen? How can _you _let that happen? _"Arthur!" She seized his arm, fury in her own voice. "Merlin has nothing to do with this! We cannot change fate, whether by our gods or your God. They do as they please. There is nothing we can do, Arthur! It is not any doing of Merlin. My heart has chosen for me. I will not deny myself any longer."

"Who, Guinevere?" The fire behind his eyes was dying to embers. "Tell me who it is." He sounded defeated, weak, hurt.

"Lancelot."

His eyes closed. She knew, painfully, what he must be thinking. His own best friend had taken the woman he loved. He'd enchanted her so that she was in love with him instead of Arthur. She sighed, releasing his arm. _Arthur, do not be mad with Lancelot. He loves me just as you do, and he loves you, too! He is your brother._

After several minutes in silence, Arthur looked up. "I wish you the best, Guinevere. Tell Lancelot that I wish the same for him; but remind him of our friendship. Tell him that he remains a brother in arms."

Joy erupted in her heart. She leaned up and kissed Arthur's cheek, unshaven as it was. "Thank you, Arthur."

* * *

Nearly four months later, the wedding day finally arrived. Guinevere could hardly believe it. She had spent nights dreaming of it. Now, with Arthur (who had indeed been crowned King) and his ragtag court moved to a new fortress called Camelot, Lancelot and Guinevere could at last be married.

Adjusting her veil for a final time, she stepped out of her chambers. Merlin was going to perform their ceremony, yet he was there to guide Guinevere to the sunny clearing where it would take place. He had a good heart. She thanked all the gods that she had such a man as Merlin to take the place of her father.

Indeed, the young woman looked stunning. She was dressed in sweeping folds of white silk, draping to the ground. Her dark hair was studded with pearls and her face covered by a lace veil. Her feet remained bare. She'd paid no mind to her ladies' protests. If she could not feel the earth underneath her, she was uncomfortable and distracted.

When she saw Lancelot, her breath caught in her throat. Shed of all armor and weapons, he was stunning in his own right. His dark curls had been tamed slightly. He wore dark leather breeches and a tight-fitting shirt, the only color coming in his wine-colored cloak.

Stepping into the circle of guests, she took his hand. Merlin moved to the front and placed a book on the makeshift alter.

Merlin began to speak.

"In this sacred circle of light, we gather to in perfect love and and perfect trust. O Goddess of divine love, I ask thee to bless this couple, their love, and their joining for as long as they shall live in love together. May they each enjoy a healthy life filled with joy, love, stability, and fertility."

He held out a bowl of soil to Lancelot and Guinevere. Slowly, as if in a dream, she moved their joined hands over it. "Blessed be by the ancient and mystical Element of Earth. May the Goddess of love in all her glory bless you with love, tenderness, happiness, and compassion for as long as ye both shall live."

He took the bowl back and revealed insence, marking their foreheads with the ashes. "Blessed be by smoke and bell, symbols of the ancient and mystical Element of Air. May the Goddess of love in all her glory bless you with communication, intellectual growth, and wisdom for as long as ye both shall live"

Next, the couple resigned their hold on the other's hand. Merlin gave each of them a candle. Guinevere found it difficult to grasp it in her trembling fingers. He lit them both. "Blessed be by wand and flame, symbols of the ancient and mystical Element of Fire. May the Goddess of love in all her glory bless you with harmony, vitality, creativity, and passion for as long as ye both shall live."

She felt the candles being taken from them. Merlin dusted water over them. "Blessed be by the ancient and mystical Element of Water. May the Goddess of love in all her glory bless you with friendship, intuition, caring, and understanding for as long as ye both shall live."

Over the incense, rose oil was smeared. He held a crystal above them, continuing the ceremony. "May the divine Goddess of love in all her glory bless ye with togetherness, honesty, and spiritual growth for as long as ye both shall live. May the Goddess and God within ye guide ye on the right path, and may the magick of your love continue to grow for as long as ye shall remain together in love for your marriage is a sacred union of the female and male aspect of Divinity."

Guinevere saw him take the iron bands of union and cover them in salt and water. This all felt very unreal. "By salt and water I purify and cleanse these beautiful symbols of love. Let all negative vibrations, impurities, and hindrances be cast forth hencefrom! And let all that is positive, loving, and good enter herein. Blessed be these rings in the divine name of the Goddess. So mote it be"

Lancelot took one of the rings. She felt him place it on her finger, realizing that she needed to do the same. She took the other and affectionately slid it onto one of his. Merlin asked them to say their vows. Guinevere heard herself say "I do" several times. Lancelot squeezed her hand gently.

She was being handed a thick white cord. It felt damp. She fumbled with the cord, tying a makeshift knot. Merlin took both of them and tied a knot in the middle. "By the knots on this cord your love is united." Merlin's rough hand touched her skin. She felt the cord against her wrist, and saw that it was joined to Lancelot's.

After a few moments, he slipped it off of their hands. "By the power of the Goddess and her Horned Consort, I now pronounce ye husband and wife for as long as ye both shall live together in love. So mote it be."

Guinevere's heart was racing. Merlin smiled. Lancelot raised the veil hindering her sight and kissed her. She heard the crowd cheer, loudest of all Bors, Galahad, and Gawain. She wrapped her arms around Lancelot's neck. This was all that she had ever dreamed her wedding day would be. "I love you," She whispered, putting her hand on his rough cheek.

"I'll never stop loving you," He replied.

It was only then she realized one person was missing: Arthur. Her heart sank. He was Christian, and it was true that this was not a Christian wedding, but surely he could have attended? "Do not be grieved!" It was Lancelot's voice again. She glanced back at her husband. What a magical word. _Husband._

"I would not want to be Queen of a thousand countries if it meant I could not have you, my love," She said finally. He leaned down and they kissed again. She closed her eyes. Whether she had made the right choice or not, she had what she had always desired: love.

* * *

Author's Note: cough This is the edited version of the chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it! It's my first attempt, so I'm going to get better, I promise! 


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